


Marked

by FeyduBois



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Dark, First Blade, Gen, Mark of Cain, One Shot, Surprise Ending, a punch to the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyduBois/pseuds/FeyduBois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope was a uniquely Dean vice. Like burgers, pie, whiskey, and loose women, Dean liked to indulge sometimes in hope.<br/>500 words of unbeta-ed speculation and angst that I wanted to post before it got Jossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

He knew he was marked from the start.

Cain killed Abel and now that he had the Mark and knew what having it felt like, what the blade and the Mark and that sweet rush of violent passion gave him, Dean suspected that possessing it, even the Mark without the blade, might lead to following in Cain's steps, might lead him into committing fratricide. He had hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but that was Winchester luck. Hope, however, was a uniquely _Dean_ vice.

Like burgers, pie, whiskey, and loose women, Dean liked to indulge sometimes in hope. He knew it wasn't good for him, knew that there was always a good chance he'd be let down again. Still, he did it, couldn't help himself, really. Only... then that jagged slice of donkey jawbone had wound up in his hand (there wasn't a chance he was going to let Sam take on something like that, not after the Trials nearly killed him), and now he had trouble bringing himself to hope that there was any other way out of this mess he had created.

The temptation was to blame circumstance, to blame Crowley, but it was Dean himself who had taken the Mark, who had first clasped the blade, who had killed with it and let his eyes fill with red and fade to black.

Enough of this angst, he told himself, regarding the man tied to the chair in front of him. He had suspected it might come to this, to brother killing brother, and he knew now there was no way out of it. In order to make right the wrongs he'd committed, Dean would have to commit what – in his code – was the ultimate sin.

He raised up the knife, a thirsty jawbone. The donkey who had owned it had died of thirst in the desert; Cain had used to it murder his brother and it had drunk his blood, and so developed a taste for blood (as had its wielders).

Dean's eyes met Sam's.

The blade swept gracefully down, plunging deep into his chest on such at angle that it just grazed between two ribs and plunged with a wet, fleshy sound into the heart. Dean could feel the heart beat against the blade, but he did not flinch, did not blink even as his eyes streamed. He did not look away from Sam.

Adam's scream died on his lips as his heart stopped mid-beat, the First Blade impaled deep into his left ventricle.

Dean withdrew the blade with a wet _schlink_ and collapsed to his knees in front of the chair where Adam sat, laying his head upon his brother's knees, his eyes wide with defeat as the blade clattered to the ground like so many lost teeth.

Sam moved to Dean's side and clasped his shoulders in a tight hug.

“You did the right thing,” he reassured, “You did what had to be done, no more, no less. It's all over. You're done.”


End file.
